


Touch

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blindness, Fluff, Intimacy, M/M, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 12:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Noct has always had his own methods to see the world around him.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Also over at my [Tumblr](http://aithilin.tumblr.com/). Set into my [Blind Faith](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10619184/chapters/23486166) fic.

“Are you sure about this?”

Noct hadn’t actually done something like this in ages. He hadn’t needed to, or really wanted to. When he was younger, it had been a way to anchor him when the noise and the bustle and the chaos even within the Citadel had threatened to overwhelm him. When he was a child, these little touches and acts had been almost a bonding ritual with his friends. 

It was Iggy who had always been the most comfortable about it. Who had seen— even when Noct was small and scared and still struggling to find his footing in the darkness— that the simplest touch was often enough to help calm his prince down. It was Iggy who— when he slipped into Noct’s bedroom after a long day, when he suspected there would be restless dreams and nightmares keeping the prince from resting as he needed— settled on the edge of a too-large bed and talked the prince through his panic. It was Iggy who, often with a book, settled next to Noct and read the most vivid fairytales he could find in the Citadel library. 

And it was Iggy who was the most comfortable when Noct asked to ‘see’ him. When Noct settled in front of his oldest friend and carefully traced features with soft, hesitant touches. It was Iggy who would encourage the curiosity, the adaptability— who would slip his glasses off and set them on the nearby nightstand as Noct worried his lower lip and debated shying away with a laugh and a ‘just kidding’. 

Noct was intimately familiar with Iggy’s features. It had been a way to adapt when he was young. Just like tracing the old patterns carved into the stone walls, or turning his toys over and over in his hands until he knew every inch of them. Knowing Iggy, that consistent, constant companion that he was, had become a coping mechanism when the world not built for a blind prince became overwhelming. He knew the soft touches to his hand, his shoulder, his back just as easily as he knew his friend’s voice. Just as much as he knew he could count the steps Iggy took in a kitchen, and could guess what he was making by the pattern of the footsteps and tools and plates as they were moved around. 

Gladio didn’t like to be touched. Not in the same way. Not with the resignation and understanding that it was Noct’s only way to know what he looked like. The last time he had obeyed the soft order of ‘let me see’ was weeks after a training accident, when Noct had misjudged a step, where Gladio had rushed to keep him from getting hurt, and ended up with a scar for his trouble. The last time Gladio hadn’t pushed him away, or changed the interaction, had been when Noct couldn’t hide his remorse at his failure. Gladio preferred to touch others— to instigate it, to throw an arm around Noct and tease him for being small, to push him forward into lessons of how a king should act and how a prince should behave. He preferred to manhandle and push and prod and force Noct into a position rather than attempt Iggy’s more calculated approaches. 

Noct almost missed the tenderness when they were younger, and Gladio was still just testing his role in Noct’s life. But his confident presses and shoves, and the playful ruffles of hair and guidance, was more straightforward. If no less honest than Iggy’s calm approaches and softer, constant, touches. 

Prompto was more hesitant, shyer. Noct knew him just as well as Iggy, but that had been an accident. Prompto didn’t treat him like he was blind, just that he needed more than a point in the right direction to see something cool. Their familiarity was mutual, with Noct pushing back just as much as his friend pushed him. It was built after sleepless nights building pillow forts under Prompto’s directions— as the other boy found new ways to express himself, better terms and descriptions, and learning not to fear ordering Noct around. It was a familiarity built from weekends draped across each other on a couch, lines of snacks and treats and easy meals scattered around while noise from a show that Prompto could absolutely not miss filled the room just as much as their jokes and teasing. He knew the way Prompto touched him just as much as he needed to touch Prompto— that for every feather light exploration of a feature, his friend would do the same, ‘just to see what it’s like.’ 

Iggy accepted, Gladio overcame, Prompto understood. 

“Seriously, hero, are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Nyx… Nyx didn’t care. He didn’t judge it the same way. The blindness wasn’t a disability, it was a puzzle to work through. It wasn’t a weakness to battle against, it was a part of who Noct was as a whole— stubborn, impatient, blind. It wasn’t some mystery state that needed to be picked apart and understood through mimicry or imitation. It was just Noct. 

“You keep asking that, little prince, and I’m going to start worrying that you think I’m hideous.”

“I just might.”

Noct liked these moments with Nyx, liked the warmth of him, the newness of him. He liked the way Nyx steadied him with hands on his waist, with a pull just a bit closer. He liked the way he could hear Nyx move through the beads and decorations in his hair and the beading and clasps on his uniform. He liked this— with Nyx in casual clothes, and solid and real, beneath him. He liked that Nyx barely commented on the way Noct would move his hands over broader shoulders, firmer muscles curiously, building a picture before working his way up to the soft, exploratory touches to Nyx’s face.

“Just don’t take my eye out or anything. I know how clumsy you are.”

“I am not.”

There was a softness to Nyx, Noct was learning. Not just all hard edges and battle-hardened. There were soft lips, a gentler curve to his cheek that he hadn’t expected. There was a flutter of eyelashes against his hand every time he got too close to more sensitive eyes, though he expected Nyx to be the sort to stand unflinching in the threat of real danger. There was an easy upturn to his lips, and a straightness to his nose. 

“Like what you see, little star?”

“You’re scruffier than I imagined.”

“All part of my charm,” Noct smiled as Nyx pressed forward for a kiss, as he let Noct’s hands continue their explorations despite it. “There are tattoos, too.”

“Tattoos?”

“Galahd stings.”

“Where?”

And Nyx guided his fingers, mirrored where the marks would be with a swipe of this thumb over Noct’s more pallid features. “Here, and here. And there are a few more elsewhere. I’m darker than you, too. You look like a ghost.”

“I wouldn’t know,” but Noct mimicked the touches to where the tattoos would be and smiled. “What do they mean?”

“Nothing important.”

“Then you wouldn’t have them.”

“Smart little thing, aren’t you?” Another kiss and he leaned into Nyx’s touch to his hair. He mimicked reaching to play with the braids and beads he could hear in the Glaive's own hair— softer again, than what he had expected at first. “The hair is more important than the tattoos, though.”

“Do I get to know what it all means?”

“Eventually. Maybe.”

“Jerk.”

“Gotta keep you interested, little star. What would I do if you lost interest?”


End file.
